Calliope Holmes
by Queenbeee222
Summary: John Watson always thought Sherlock Holmes would have run out of secrets by now... He was so wrong. A sister, a plot of revenge and lots of Holmes sass. How was John going get out of this with his sanity intact?
1. Chapter 1

"Jesus Christ what are y-… you know what, I'm not even gonna ask."

Staring at his best friend, whose face was currently half inside a raccoons gut, John Watson came to the realization (one of many) that he was in desperate need of a vacation. Turning and looking around the living room saw overturned tables, papers strewn here and there, a…. was that a machete sticking out of the wall?

"He ate the key", Sherlock's muffled voice was heard.

Taking a deep breath, John replied at patiently as he could, "I'm guessing you're talking about the raccoon?"

"Obviously", came the clipped reply.

"Alright then… What key?"

"The key of a vault belonging to the Italian mafia. Said vault currently contains enough money to buy a small country."

Sighing wearily, John just nodded and proceeded to put the groceries he had bought in the kitchen. He had given up a long time ago to try to understand how Sherlock got himself into situations like these. The only reason he was here in the first place was because he had lost a bet with Mary and had been forced to buy this stuff for his friend. "Ok then Sherlock, have fun with your raccoon", he said as started towards the door.

However, just as he was standing at the door, the ringing of Sherlock's phone reached his ears. Glancing towards Sherlock, he let out another sigh. "You going to get that?"

It came as no surprise that he was very effectively ignored.

Pursing his lips, the doctor snatched up the device and quickly pressed the button. "Hello?"

"Hello there", a smooth, feminine yet cheery voice replied. "Is Sherlock Holmes available?"

"Actually he's sort of busy right now", john replied as he saw the raccoon he had assumed was dead start to writhe. "Who is this, maybe I can take a message?"

"Well you can tell Mr. Holmes, when he's free, that Calliope wanted to talk to him. Tell him it's urgent."

"I will."

"Thank you", then silence.

Looking over to the sleuth, John was relieved to see him examining a grand looking, silver key rather than digging around a raccoons insides.

"Sherlock."

"Hm?"

"Don't you want to know who called?"

"Oh yes, of course", he replied sounding positively disinterested.

"It was some girl. Her name was Calliope."

It was like a switch had been turned. Immediately Sherlock's entire attention was on John as he practically sprang forward to grab his phone, almost toppling John over. "Sherlock, what the hell?!"

Ignoring him (he seemed to do that a lot); Sherlock put the phone to his ear and impatiently paced around the room. "Sherlock you want to fill me in?"

Ignored.

"I guess not."

Upon hearing Sherlock's voice, the doctor returned his attention to the consulting detective. "Calliope?"

Unfortunately for John, he couldn't hear the mystery woman on the other side of the line, so he was forced to make sense of the conversation just by what Sherlock was saying. "Is it over?"

…

"Are you here?"

…

"How long?"

…

"Right now? Very well."

And before John could get any questions in, his friend was out of the door, hurriedly putting his coat on. "Sherlock, what is going on?"

"Hurry John, it's not nice to keep a lady waiting."

"I'm not moving until you tell me what's happening!"

Groaning in obvious annoyance, Sherlock turned on his heel and grabbed John by his shoulders. Locking him with an intense gaze, he quickly spoke. "At this current moment, we are going to sit in a taxi, we are going to drive to a certain rendezvous point where my sister is waiting, and we are going to bring her home. Understand? Very good, let's go."

No. No john didn't understand. He didn't understand even remotely. In a shocked daze, he followed his friend outside where he was already hailing a cab. Blinking, the military man climbed into the car next to Sherlock and shook his head. "Sherlock?"

"Hm?"

"Sister?"

"Yes."

"Alright then."

It was not alright. This made no sense. Whatsoever. Squeezing his eyes shut, John thought back to a term he had read on the internet the other day. What was it the kids called it? Oh yes, shook. That was what it was. John Hamish Watson was shook to his core. God he needed that vacation.

 _ **A/N: So… ya. I don't really know where I'm going with this but I was hella bored and I thought why not? We shall just have to wait and see I guess.**_


	2. Chapter 2

He was one and a half minute late. Typical Sherlock. He probably just did it to annoy her.

Calliope Holmes was currently quite irritated. She had been sitting peacefully enough in a small park, on a bench with an obscene amount of bird droppings when a rather bland looking man had started to… flirt with her? Disgusting. Upon examining him, she was even more disgusted. A father to one of the children playing on the swings, a clerk in a small, insignificant bank, a smoker, a gambling man and, lastly, very much married.

"What's a pretty lil' lady like you doin sittin here all alone?"

Oh dear. She was going to kill Sherlock. With her face completely blank, and her mind elsewhere, she replied with so much sarcasm she was surprised the man didn't keel over and die, "Oh I was actually just waiting for you to come over here."

His face lit up like a Christmas tree.

No way. Was he serious? Oh for the love of-

"Calliope."

Looking away from the creep, she let a smirk crawl onto her face. "Sherlock", she greeted, probably looking too smug for her own good.

"Come."

And with that, he turned on his heel and walked over to the waiting cab. Rolling her eyes, Calliope picked her suitcase up, conveniently ignoring the sleaze ball, and entered the car. "You have no manners Sherlock."

From in front of her, the sleuth raised his eyebrow and scoffed. "You're perfectly capable of carrying a suitcase yourself and in no way did you need my assistance."

Sighing, she responded, "it's called chivalry genius."

He chose to ignore this comment, surprise surprise.

Smirking a little, she turned her gaze to the rather short man next to Sherlock. An army- actually ex army doctor with a pregnant wife. Recently went to a barber shop but his usual barber wasn't available, prefers dogs to cats and was… Sherlock's friend? Ah so this was who she had read about. The one who had changed her brother. Interesting. She would have to see what made him so special. He didn't look like much but people rarely ever were what they made out to be. However, he had been staring at her since she had entered the vehicle and Calliope was starting to get worried for his health.

"Are you alright doctor?"

Evidently startled, the man looked at her with her wide eyes before turning to Sherlock and asking, sounding rather weak, "This is her?"

Huffing, her brother turned to his friend and replied, "Yes John this is my younger sister, Calliope. Calliope, this is John Watson. And before you ask John, my brother and I didn't tell anyone about her existence because, legally and in papers, she didn't exist. Informing you was against rules."

"Rules made by whom?"

Quickly speaking before her brother could, she said, "My bosses. And no, you don't need to know who they are. Basically, I was given a task in which I needed to be a shadow identity and no one was to know where I was or what I was doing."

"Speaking of that, our parents have driven me to near insanity with their pestering. You ought to give them a call", Sherlock piped up.

Again looking rather smug, the third Holmes simply said, "Who do you think I called the minute I was out? There's a reason I'm the favorite you know; I actually remember the people who raised me, as ordinary as they may be."

Rolling his eyes, Sherlock lazily said, "I see you haven't changed even a little bit."

Shrugging, she couldn't help but feel a little sour. She had been gone for almost three years and this was how Sherlock greeted her? She understood of course, what her brother was like. He rarely liked showing what he was feeling, but after finding out about how he had changed and had made friends, she had really hoped something would be different. But no. Complete indifference is what she got. It hurt. Her family was what had got her through during the days she wanted to get up and come home. So yes, this… uncaring attitude was a tad hurtful.

Sighing softly, Calliope tried getting her emotions in order. It had always been like this. She was always the one who felt the most, and who always let people's words and actions get to her. Her brothers tried to teach her and tell her that people like them would always be treated differently and would never be accepted. They tried to tell her that no one would ever understand and that emotion was a mistake all together.

That to let no one in was the only way to stay safe.

And so here she was, with no one to love just because she had taken her big brothers' advice, while one of the said big brothers had a best friend who would, according to the files, die for him.

How ironic.

"Just drop me off at Mycroft's office."

Eyebrow raised and a clear expression of disbelief on Sherlock's face, he asked, skeptical, "Mycroft?"

Raising an eyebrow right back, she replied, "Yes, Mycroft. Why so surprised?"

"If you wanted to see Mycroft, why didn't you ask him to come pick you up?"

"He'd bring his whole entourage with him", she replied with a look of mild disgust.

Sherlock scoffed and shook his head, "Yes, yes I suppose he would. But still, right now I'm no mood to see our dear older brother so we're heading straight to Baker Street."

Calliope wasn't surprised so she just settled for staring out the window and tried to remind herself she was home, even if it felt like the farthest thing from it.

()()()()()()()()()()()

"Well this is… a mess."

From beside her, John cleared his throat and shifted from one foot to another before saying, "It used to be nicer when I lived here."

Humming skeptically, Calliope stepped into the apartment and, after putting her suitcase to one side, went to sit on the black single seater.

"That's Sherlock's."

She looked at the short doctor with an eyebrow raised and a rather amused expression painted onto her face. And even though she knew perfectly well what he was talking about, she replied with a simple, "Excuse me?"

Once more, the man cleared his throat and motioned to the chair she had settled rather comfortably in.

"The chair… um, Sherlock sits on it."

As he was saying this, Calliope kicked off her shoes and further sunk into the chair. "Oh I bet he does", she replied serenely before taking out her phone and going through the messages.

Suddenly, a shadow came over her and an irritable voice was heard, "Calliope. Get off."

Looking up at her bratty older brother, she pouted while furrowing her eyebrows, "Is that how you treat a guest? How rude. At least Mycroft is civil."

And of course he responded exactly as she had predicted. Sherlock could never really bear to be compared with Mycroft. Like a robot, he walked to the chair opposite to her and dropped himself onto it.

Smiling sweetly, she diverted her attention back to the device in her hands. All was silent for about a minute before Sherlock suddenly said, sounding irritated, "What are you gaping at?"

Upon settling her gaze on the ex- soldier, Calliope found herself chuckling a little. He was standing in the same spot, mouth slightly open and eyes wide."Y-you… You just… I don't even know anymore."

Poor Mr. Watson.


	3. Chapter 3

"I suppose it never crossed your mind to just call _me_ in the first place?"

Looking up to see her oldest brother standing in the doorway with a slightly displeased expression, Calliope furrowed her eyebrows. "What difference would it have made? You knew anyway."

Rolling his eyes, Mycroft replied testily, "Yes but it would have spared me the trip here."

Shrugging, she just said, "No one forced you to come."

Sighing, Mycroft merely pursed his lips.

Well now Calliope just wanted to cry.

Three years. _Three goddamn years_. Three years of loneliness, of fear and of complete isolation. And apparently her family had never given her a second thought. E.X.O was a better place than this. At least there, she held no expectation from anyone.

Glancing up from the newspaper she had been reading, she saw Mycroft still standing at his spot at the doorway. He seemed to be examining her. "You can just _ask_ me whatever you're trying to deduce."

Pursing his lips once more, he said, "I don't need to _try_ , first of all. And secondly, since when did you ever let depression get the better of you?"

Well then.

At this, she fixed a sneer that could wilt flowers on to her face and replied with a voice saturated with venom, "Oh you know… the same time I realized that living in a foreign country with your life in constant peril was better than being surrounded by _family_."

With his shoulders slumping slightly, Mycroft said, "You _know_ that we missed you and were worried about you."

Springing up from the couch, the girl Holmes scoffed. "I don't _care_ if you 'missed me', brother dear. It doesn't matter. Anyways, what I'm curious about is, how in the name of all that is holy, did our beloved brother find himself a _pet_?"

Scoffing, Mycroft shook his head. "Apparently the new term is _friend_. Where are those two idiots anyways?"

"They stepped out for a 'case'. Why does the pet go along anyway? He seemed rather dimwitted."

"You know Sherlock. He _needs_ dimwitted people around him to feel _smart_ ", Mycroft sneered.

Calliope blew out a breath and licked her dry lips. She needed to get herself in order. Seeing her family after so long had made her an emotional, irrational mess.

 _You mean a human?_

She groaned inwardly. Sometimes the voice in her head was a pain in her ass.

Focusing herself again, she put her thoughts in order. Firstly, she needed a place to stay. Her _own_ place to stay.

"Mycroft, I need a house."

Leaning on his umbrella, Mycroft cocked his head. "A house can be arranged. Preferences?"

Nibbling on her lower lip, Calliope answered, "Close to here? It's quite a central location and, until I get my bearings, it would be wiser to stay close to Sherlock."

Suddenly, a rather wicked grin made its way onto her eldest brother's face. "I know _just_ the place."

"Absolutely not."

Rolling her eyes, the young woman ignored the agitated man standing in the doorway of her new home and continued to neatly fold her clothes. "You can't live here."

"I can live wherever I damn well please Sherlock. Its none of your business."

"It is my business if you live in the same _building_ as me and intrude upon my privacy", the sleuth hissed.

With a scoff, she turned to face her brother. "You're still as childish as before I see. It's quite pathetic. Now go away, I need to unpack. I'm sure your pet will entertain you."

Face twitching, chest heaving, the man turned upon his heel and exited 223B.

"It's absolutely absurd I tell you. The both of them did this on purpose. They _knew_ it would bother me."

At this moment, John Watson was sitting on his chair, casually sipping his tea, and listening to his friend rant about something rather stupid.

"If they did it to bother you, why are you letting it bother you?" the doctor asked with his face scrunched up. He honestly couldn't understand why this was such an issue for Sherlock.

Letting out a shout of irritation, the taller of the two men stomped his foot, an action not unlike something a child would do. "You don't understand! She- she'll try to _mother_ me and try to stop me from doing reckless things!"

Oh. My. God.

Sighing, John tried to remind himself that this was Sherlock he was dealing with. "Sherlock… you do realize that sounds… good. Right?"

Upon hearing this, Sherlock scoffed and spat, "You wouldn't understand."

But then, there was a moment of hesitation from the consulting detective. The twitch of a muscle in his jaw. The clenching of fists. Then. Words spilling out. Hushed and rushed. Almost as if he was trying to quickly pull a bandage off. "Also… she's not safe near me."


	4. Chapter 4

The stretching of limbs. Tired eyes, unwilling to open. The sound of bare feet padding on the carpeted floor. A door unlocking, revealing a young man on the other side, all sharp and fresh, early in the morning. "Good morning Sherlock", Calliope murmured softly, leaning against her door, still obviously half asleep.

The softening of green blue eyes upon observing the vulnerability on the young woman's face. "Why are you still asleep?" Sherlock huffed while ushering Calliope back into her now homey apartment.

"I was decorating till late", she mumbled, tumbling back into her bed and immediately wrapping her blankets around herself.

Rolling his eyes, Sherlock gently stroked his sister's hair and sighed. He knew that at that moment, she would willingly give up information, and he was going to use that to his full advantage. "Calliope, tell me, how was E.X.O?" the man asked slowly, gently, in the hopes of keeping her in her sleepy daze.

The reaction was immediate. Scrunching her nose, she vigorously shook her head and buried her face in the blanket. "I don't like it. Bad. Bad."

The slumping of shoulders and the lowering of his head. The tall man suddenly felt a pang of a feeling he rarely felt. _Regret_.

It had always been in his nature to do whatever he wanted, never really caring about the consequences. This meant that regret was an emotion, although not foreign, was definitely not familiar. He wished he could make her better. Make her happier. He wished he had never let her leave for that hellhole. He could see it in her eyes. He didn't need to _deduct_ anything, even an average human being could see a shattered soul reflected in the eyes that had always held such hope, even in the darkest time. Strangely, he felt guilt as well. Of the three siblings, Calliope was the most deserving. Deserving of all that was good. Yet here she was, devoid of the light that had always seemed to warm the hearts of those around her while Sherlock; a sad excuse of a human, was… content. He had John, he had his cases that prevented the creeping tendrils of boredom to seize and choke him. It was unfair and made the sleuth's mouth twist in disgust.

But he would fix this. He would fix _her_. That was a promise. Looking down at his younger sister, he saw she had gone to sleep again. That was okay. He would let her sleep. After all… she was _so_ tired.

John looked up from the morning paper to see Sherlock re enter the flat. _Without his sister_. "Where's she then? I thought you were going to get her?"

"I changed my mind. We're leaving without her."

"Wasn't the whole point of me coming here this early in the morning was so we could re acquaint Calliope with London?"

"She's asleep. Now; we have a case not far from here, it should take us a few-"he was suddenly interrupted by shorter of the two, who looked very confused.

"If she's asleep… why can't you just wake her up?"

Closing his eyes, the curly haired man let out a grunt of annoyance. "Because she hasn't gotten a good night's rest in approximately three years and she deserves it", he practically hissed out.

Shocked was an understatement. From how Sherlock acted around Mycroft, the doctor has simply assumed his ex flat mate would despise his sister just as much as his brother. Apparently that wasn't the case. From his observation the evening before, the female Holmes wasn't particularly different than the men. She was blunt, slightly standoffish and quite sarcastic. Raising an eyebrow, John simply shrugged and rose from his seat. "So what's that case you were talking about?"

" _You're a dirty little liar you know that"_

" _Shut up."_

 _A mouth twisting cruelly. Mocking and sour. Sweat sticking to skin. A bleeding lip trembling. Shoulders shaking._

" _What's wrong darling? Can't get up?"_

 _A scream breaking through the heavy air. Sobbing. Blood soaking through torn jeans. Despair seeping into broken bones. Glassy eyes trying to search for any form of help. Stale breath near her ear._

" _Are you already done? I'm just getting started."_

 _Hell._

Her fingers gripping the sheets, she sprung up from her spot on the comfortable bed. Breathing labored, she gripped her chest. Eyes squeezing shut. Shutting it all out. Putting her hands to her ears, she blocked echoing screams that only she could hear.

 _ **A/N: TBH I don't really know where I'm going with this story. LOL. Anyway, I would really appreciate if you guys would leave a review. It would really make my day. Also, I'm sorry this is so short; I'll try to make it longer next time.**_


	5. Chapter 5

_**A/N: I would recommend listening to some feelsy songs with this.**_

Tired eyes examining scenery she would soon have to get used to. She had expected the thought would have comforting, when in fact it really just gave her a sense of foreboding. A dark, heavy shadow had perched itself upon her shoulders and had draped her vision with a constant tint of red. All she saw was danger.

Always on alert.

It was tiring to say the least. Calliope hadn't seen either of her brothers since she had arrived in London. She just didn't have the energy to face them. Although there was a little voice in her head whispering that her behavior was quite self destructive, she honestly couldn't bring herself to care. She had stopped caring for herself the moment she realized her absence would never be missed. It was a painful thought.

She had been holed up in her new apartment for thirteen days, always ordering some form of greasy takeout, only stepping out for the rare times she felt need to fill her lungs with the poisonous smoke that never failed to give temporary relief. Most of her time was spent staring at nothing in particular. Sometimes, she would turn the television on, but rarely did she ever really watch it. It was a rut that was tearing her apart, whether she knew it or not. Being left alone with one's thoughts was never a good thing, especially when it came to the Holmes'. Demons and mutated thoughts would run wild, destroying the carefully crafted walls and locked doors that kept insanity at bay. She knew she was walking a dangerous path, one with shadows and thorns, but her legs wouldn't listen to what her mind was telling her. It was pathetic. She was pathetic. How could she let herself become so weak? Her brothers had always been stronger, been better, than her.

With much effort, weary bones lifted her weak body off of the bed, dragging herself to the window in the living room. Looking outside with an apathetic expression, Calliope merely felt disdain for the people walking on the streets outside. They were living in such ignorance. Ignorant of the pure evil rooted deep inside the Earth's core. But she supposed it was for the best; ignorance was _bliss_ after all.

 _Lucky bastards,_ the young woman thought with a scoff. Pulling a cigarette from the pack lying on the fireplace, Calliope quickly lit it and took a long drag. Letting the grey smoke swirl around in her lungs, thinking wryly how it was killing her and keeping her alive at the same time. However, she was rudely yanked out of her grim thoughts when she heard someone jiggling the door knob.

Hesitating, she blinked slowly, considering whether she should open the door or not when the decision was made for her when a loud voice called out, "Calliope open the goddamn door I have to get somewhere."

 _Sherlock_ , she thought roll of her eyes, trying to ignore the panic she was really feeling. He couldn't see her like this. He simply couldn't. She was still going through an internal crisis when she heard a click and saw her idiotic older brother walking in holding a key in his hand.

 _She was screwed._

He had given her time. Just like John had said.

He shouldn't have.

He knew his sister. But John was always better when it came to people; so he had given him the benefit of the doubt. After all, he didn't want to hurt her any more than he already had. But enough was enough.

"Where are you going?"

"To see my sister", he said blankly while walking out the door.

He heard John calling him behind him but chose to conveniently ignore him. he was good at that. " . I need the key to 223 B."

Looking up from her cooking with eyebrows furrowed, the old woman let out a strangled laugh at his request. "Sherlock! You know I simply can't do that, its not _right_."

Frustration rising in him, Sherlock clenched his fists. Advancing, looming over his landlady he hissed, "I am allowed to enter my sisters apartment when I think she's in danger. Now _give_ me the key before I _take_ it myself."

Squeaking, she scrambled over to a drawer and practically threw a bunch of keys at the tall man, all the while grumbling about rude clients and a gun.

Standing in front of Calliopes door, he twisted the knob even though he knew it would be locked. He didn't know why he did it. Maybe he wanted to warn her. He didn't really know. He rarely did when it was related to his sister. It was _absurd_. Inserting the key and entering the apartment, the first thing he saw was her.

 _Taking her in._

He felt _angry_. At her, at those who hurt her, at his older brother for sending her away and at himself for being shit at protecting Calliope. Though he said none of this. He gave nothing away. He never did.

"Sister dear, you need to clean up."

Gulping, Calliope shuffled her feet at cleared her throat. He looked utterly unimpressed. Of course he did, she must have looked pitiful.

She felt so bare. As if someone had stripped her of all her walls and laid her out for everyone to see. Even if that everyone was just Sherlock. He had never seen her like this. Because she hadn't allowed him to. He wouldn't understand, he simply couldn't.

Calliope's brothers had always been different than her. She was more normal, yet at the same time the oddest of them all. She could see what they saw, deduce the way they could, even manipulate the way they could, but she could feel in a way they never could. And that made her weak. Every deduction, every time she saw straight through a person, it was like a bullet.

But she was the only one who knew this. No one else could know. But now Sherlock did. And he wouldn't get it. He would see, but he wouldn't understand.

"It's the jet lag brother mine. Really a pain in the arse."

 _Lies. Blatant lying._ Both of them knew this. but this was just how was done with the Holmes'. They didn't talk about feelings. It was an unspoken rule. A rule that had almost killed her on many an occasion.

"I see. I believe your sleep pattern is better now?"

"Much."

"Well then I believe it's time to get out, no?"

"I suppose it is."

"Good. Come see me at lunch, I have a case, you're coming along", and with that he was gone.

Calliope suddenly felt a rather warm feeling fill her. She wasn't dumb. She knew what he was doing. Trying to help her in the only way he knew how. It was sweet. Maybe there was still hope.

Putting out the roll of tobacco, she sighed stretched her limbs.

 _I believe it's time to get out, no?_

Maybe it _was_ time.

Even though something told her that she was a ticking time bomb, just waiting to implode, Calliope was willing to try her luck.


End file.
